Ancestor Hunting

Whitbeck Church

I've been hunting my ancestors for forty years now. It's an interesting journey and one that never ends. Family history is part of my existence and was, long before the internet made it easier to research and long before programmes such Who Do You Think You Are were part of the BBC's remit on public broadcasting. Days in record offices are not over by any means but they are less frequent. I still get a thrill when discovering something new online about someone I am looking for from the comfort of my living room but you cannot beat the thrill of pouring over old documents in a record office and having to play silent deadpan at Eureka moments!

Gotcha! Robert Ainsworth

I am often asked why? They're dead those people you look for. The past is gone. Leave it be. Let the skeletons remain in the cupboards. My reply is usually  about history and learning from it, not repeating mistakes but my prime motivator and response is that I never want to forget my roots, where I came from and to remember all those who went before and who have made my own life possible. Ancient peoples remember their ancestors and honour them in many ways but modern society, the first world, does its best to forget them and by doing that I believe we become disconnected with our past and history and then live without true grounding and purpose but what do I know!

Recently I began researching Aiden's family history and it is fascinating. I am not related to any of these people but I have become wrapped up in their lives and where they lived them. I wrote about one character a little while ago and although larger than life characters are fantastic, I love trying to discover a little more about the unsung and the forgotten.

A beautiful place to rest - Barrow Cemetery

In September we were lucky to be able to spend some time in The Lake District (if you like photographs of that area there's lots here) and surroundings, an area where Aiden has deep roots. We deliberately put a few days aside to hunt down some of his ancestors, to discover the places they had lived and frequented, to gaze at views they must have also looked upon, to get a feel for them and their lives.

Some of the places they came from were remote and some were remote and bleak. None were far from the coast and some were downright open to every element that would have come their way.

The view from the south of Walney Island

Biggar Village, Walney Island

I did wonder at their resilience and as to why they remained in such places or kept returning to them. We see remote places differently now. With the internet. TV, modern communications, heating systems and light, a place can be remote but yet we can still stay in touch with everyone we want to in an easy and convenient way, whilst being well fed and kept warm.

Imagine somewhere like Walney Island in 1700. Windswept, burning peat as likely as not to keep warm, draughts swirling around backs and knees and the only light after sunset being from the fire and candles. Few creature comforts and yet the Ainsworths' kept returning there. Was it the absolute magnificence of the views of never ending skies and sand (when the tide was out) and marvelling at the creation of the Lord? Or did they care for neither, it was where the work was and where they could find a home?

I suppose I will never know the answers to those questions but there is a sense of yes, they loved it there, the coast, the sea, the beaches because I know and have known the love for the sea resurrected in both Aiden and his Mother. Perhaps it's all in the blood after all?!

The view from Walney to Piel Castle

Ancestor hunting always fires my hunger for more family history research. It also reminds me that there is never enough time. We are on this planet  for such a short time whether we die young or old, it is a mere blip in time. I am conscious of never being satisfied with my discoveries and of the yearning for more and for never having enough time to continue the voyage of discovery. Perhaps that is why I hunt the ancestors for whilst I do they remain immortal, at least for me.

The old lighthouse at Rampside

Aldingham Church